


Everyone's a Sinner

by doitsuki



Series: Fics that Didn't Quite Make it [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Aman (Tolkien), Fluff, Food Kink, Incest, Kissing, Lazy Sex, M/M, Multi, Noldor - Freeform, Polyamory, Sexual exploration, Teasing, Vanyar - Freeform, Ye Olde Way of Speaking, mild weight kink, soft Thranduil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsuki/pseuds/doitsuki
Summary: AU where Thranduil is a polyamorous Vanya and all the elves live in Aman, having  awakened in Middle-Earth to travel West and stay in the Blessed Realm for all eternity. Travel between Middle Earth and Aman is free and accessible by ships across the sea… but there is not much interest the elves have in the world of Men. The Valar have manipulated their minds against it. Yet still the Noldor are curious, the Teleri faintly concerned and the Vanyar without a single care.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written 9/8/15, unfinished. final chapter is personal notes on the plot, only read it if you're desperate for mOAR

Three Ages had passed in the Blessed Realm of Aman, some ten thousand years after the near uncountable years before. The two races of Eru's children had their own domain; the Elves in the West and the Men in Middle-Earth. There was talk among the Noldorin elves that they were kept from Middle-Earth in these later ages so that Men could hold dominion over it, the very same land the elves first awoke in. Yet they could see the stars and hear music in the water while they lived in Aman, and were at peace although a little disgruntled about it. The Teleri did not care, and were happy to make things by the shores and live with friends and family they knew would never die. Then there were the Vanyar, almost foreign to their kin. Nothing much was known about their habits, for it was said they did not have any. They sang the praises of Manwë and Varda, living in small groups on the grassy slopes of Taniquetil. Some also had homes in the forests below and stayed high up in the trees where they could sunbathe or gaze at the sky. Vapid and gentle they were, with no cares for craft or adventure. The Teleri thought there was something wrong with them. The Noldor found them intriguing.

One fine day, a particular Vanya had nothing to do as usual. Thranduil, son of Oropher spent his time calm and luxurious at the foot of Taniquetil where many tall trees grew. He was quite plump for an elf, a beautiful delicacy to his form words alone could not touch. His golden hair fell in glorious silken tresses over broad shoulders and creamy white skin. Often he wore nothing but the sun on his body and a sigh at his lips, his long hair offering a shred of modesty as to where it covered him. There was nothing much required of Thranduil to keep himself looking pleasant - rarely did his fine nails grow out of shape, and never would a single hair in his brows go crooked. He had the favour of the Valar, and for this he was eternally grateful. Today he lay on his belly, sunning his back in the light of Laurelin while picking at a cluster of grape-like fruits. He didn't know what they were but they tasted good, so he ate them. Nothing was poisonous in the Blessed Realm. Thranduil rolled a little to reach up further into the tree, and saw it bend to offer him what it had.

"Hannon le..." He murmured in thanks, chewing on the sweet fruits. There was not a day more perfect in all his immortal life than the ones where he could laze around and eat to his heart's content, indulging in whatever pleasures took to his mind. It was a simple one, Thranduil's mind, quite unfocussed in general and without the capacity to worry much. He lived and he loved all that was given to him, and it was good enough.

Oropher saw his seven thousand year old son as an innocent little child, always doting upon him in the curious way that he did. On this fine day he happened across Thranduil while wandering about, and his face was lit with joy.

"Iôn nín..." His deep voice reached Thranduil's ears like the whooshing of wind and deep creaking of trees in the woods. Thranduil turned, his hand rising and falling in a rippled wave.

"Adar... to what do I owe thy presence this morning?" A little drowsy, Thranduil peered up at his father through heavy lids. Oropher came to sit beside him and leaned in to kiss him upon the forehead, being tall enough to do so easily.

"Merely a stroll through the forest, dearest one. I am glad to see thou art in good health." He ran his thick hands over Thranduil's chest and the slight roughness brought a gasp from his son's luscious lips. Thranduil closed his eyes and enjoyed the soothing touches, leaning his head on Oropher’s shoulder. From one hand he continued eating, placing the other upon the soft grass to brace himself. Then Oropher took him into his arms and Thranduil relaxed completely with a gentle sigh. He loved to be held, being quite fond of affection and companionship like most elves. Many relationships he had, chiefest of all that which he shared with Celeborn, a prince of the Teleri. Not to be cast aside was the way he interacted with Oropher, however. Bound by blood and even further by love, the two elves cared deeply for each other, Oropher being so protective over his son he would do literally _anything_ for him. But Thranduil did not need much, and was happy with the past seven thousand years of his life. He was sure the next few millenia would be just the same.

“What news hast thou heard of the others?” asked Thranduil, moaning quietly as he felt thick fingers press into the soft flesh of his thighs.

Slowly and sensually Oropher massaged his son, whispering of the Noldor and their growing discontent with the eternal peace of Aman. The Teleri had not been up to anything of note lately, although Oropher did speak of his wife and her everlasting joy upon the shores of Eldamar. There was much to tell of the Noldor and Thranduil listened, somewhat distracted as Oropher told stories of kings and warriors, drama and strife.

“For all the fighting they do, I do not think a single Noldo would be able to best me in combat. They all look so terribly frail.” Oropher gazed where his long white hair pooled beside him, admiring the shimmer while drawing out the most delectable sounds from his son.

“Oh, Ada… I care not for fighting and troubles, for they seem so far and insignificant. Tell me of the beauty of thy travels… of silver nights and warm days…” Thranduil’s voice trailed into a long breath and his hands snuck to ghost over his father’s own. He could feel the strength in Oropher’s hands, the prominence of his knuckles and how used they were to tasks of great effort. It delighted him to have the strongest elf in existence treat him with such love and care, and Thranduil had grown accustomed to being handled by just about anyone who fancied him.

“Mmm… hast thou seen Lord Glorfindel lately? I have found his presence lacking as of late…”  Thranduil tilted his head to the side and nudged Oropher with his nose, pressing his sweet lips to his father’s neck. As he nibbled, he noticed Oropher’s expression change. Only slightly, but it was there. The pursing of thin, pale lips together. The lightest crease between dark brows.

Oropher took a moment before he responded. “He… has gone to parley with the Noldor as usual, for he seeks the thrill of battle and wishes to hone his skills. Thou knowest how terribly insatiable he is…”

“I see worry upon thy face, Adar…” Thranduil’s body shifted in a sluggish flip and Oropher assisted him in turning over. “Is there reason for concern regarding his adventures?”  
“He has not returned in quite some time…” said Oropher, who loved Glorfindel dearly and indeed worried for his closest friend. “I have considered journeying to Tirion to see if he is well.” Then he fell silent, a shadow across his face. “The Noldor… do not like me very much.”

“They are wrong.” said Thranduil with a firm pout, leaning up to bring his face to Oropher’s.  As Oropher ran his fingers through Thranduil’s hair to calm himself, it seemed there was an unshakable doubt in his heart. Thranduil felt it, and wished it gone. “I shall go if it is thy wish…”

Oropher thought for a few minutes, and Thranduil waited patiently while staring into his eyes. “Go if thou must, but return to me as soon as possible. How I love thee, Thranduil. Without thy beauty to gaze upon here in our home, this life of mine is made lesser.” Leaning forth with all the power in his neck, Oropher tilted his head and pressed his lips to his son’s. Thranduil parted his lips and openly kissed his father, tasting of sweet fruits and sunshine. He thought of how much fun it would be to see what the Noldor had gotten up to in the past two thousand years, and who remembered him from his last visit. With increasing fervence he lavished affection upon his father, who was only too eager to return it. There in the morning light they basked and took pleasure in each other’s company, enveloped in the epitome of bodily comfort.


	2. Chapter 2

When Thranduil set out for Tirion, he wondered what flowers grew at the base of the hill and if any new settlements had been formed around the great city. Calm, curious thoughts, with no real purpose or direction. The sight that greeted him after a few hours of walking was not one he expected. Guards armed to the tooth lined the city walls, clad in gold and blue with the most regal appearance to them all. High, clear-cut helms slashed the outline of the sky and like birds on a line they spoke among themselves in quiet, secretive tones. Thranduil could not see a single space atop the wall that did not have someone keeping watch over it. But it did not bother him, for nobody threatened him no matter how sharp and new their swords were. Admiring the designs on every shield as he walked, Thranduil stepped through the gates and questioned briefly why the path into Tirion was lined with guards, seemingly prepared for war. He received only suspicious looks in reply.

The walls and terraces were white, the sand in the streets so fine and sparkling it resembled grains of diamond. White crystal stairs climbed from the fertile land of Túna up into homes with such marvelous architecture Thranduil could not help but stare. Noldor in their rich garments walked as if they had important places to go, and Thranduil asked a few of them what they were doing. Most had some crafts to get to, others had jobs, some were meeting in small groups and others just ignored him. Thranduil smiled, for it pleased him to see how busy these folk were. He could never understand _why_ they did what they did, but as long as they were happy, he was too. Up the stairs and sandy paths he walked, wishing to ask some of his friends at court if they had seen Glorfindel. He did not know anyone of Fëanor’s house nor did he have any dealings with the King, but as long as he was welcome here he would consider everyone a friend. And that meant many questions, along with his typical Vanyarin behaviour of gentle openness and a few dazed, charming smiles. It was difficult to deny him anything; most of his friends and lovers had learned this the hard way. Pun intended. He went up the stairs to the palace, gazing at the tall towers reaching up into the sky.

“Business?” A gruff voice startled Thranduil and he looked to see a guard leering at him from behind a golden visor.

“Yes, I’m looking for my friend.” Thranduil kept his voice light and friendly, but the guard did not smile. “Hast thou seen Lord Glorfindel?”

The guard rolled his eyes. “Another one of his suitors, I expect. Go on. He’s in the hall through these doors. Know also that you are forbidden to enter the throneroom.”

“Ah, of course. Thank you!” It made sense to Thranduil that the King would not allow visitors these days- Finwë was very old and some folk thought him mad, for his temper was well known and rumors had spread about corruption in his family. Thranduil wondered if he was happy, after fifty thousand years and dealings with Valar and Elves alike. ‘ _I shan’t bother him. It is forbidden, after all.’_

The silvery silk of his robes swished about his feet as he walked through the ornate doors. There before him unchanged and beautiful was the reception hall of Finwë’s court, shining blue marble tiles in starry patterns covering the well-polished floor. Natural light came from the left, where carved white arches offered a pleasant view into the majestic gardens full of flowers and precisely carved paths. On the right, a walkway curved around towards rooms Thranduil did not know of. Straight ahead and past the statue in the center of the hall were two grand doors, leading to the throneroom. Heavily guarded and locked shut, it was clear nobody could pass through. Thranduil looked around at the extravagant finery of the whole place and smiled, straightening his back. Perhaps looking a little proud and pompous would get him what he wished. He adjusted the silver circlet atop his head and cast his hair behind his shoulders, clearing the open collar of his robes to offer a nice view of his neck. It was then that he noticed a shimmer of yellow gold amongst all the dark-haired Noldor. Glorfindel stood in a fine blue surcoat with embroidered leaves on the cuffs and lapels. Making many fancy gestures, he spoke in a bright and clear voice to a smirking Noldo. Said Noldo was Fëanor, Finwë’s firstborn son and the one who gave him the most grief.

“Glorfindel~!” Thranduil called to his friend with such joy in his voice it was indistinguishable from euphoric birdsong. Glorfindel stiffened for a moment and the witty comeback he’d prepared for Fëanor’s insult died on his lips. Now halfway between an argument and the need to address Thranduil to keep up relations, his brain stuttered on what to do. Thranduil decided that for him, gliding over in a few smooth steps and lacing his arms around Glorfindel’s waist. He only released him when he did not feel an embrace in return.

“Oh, it has been terribly long since I have laid eyes upon thee!” Thranduil stood close to Glorfindel, knowing the warrior did not have any sense of personal space. “Where hast thou been in these past few years?”

Before Glorfindel could respond, Fëanor snickered with a nasty edge to his voice.

“Who the hell is this? One of your whores come a-running?”

“Oh shut it, you shriveled up weenie. Wait a minute.” Glorfindel shushed Fëanor as harshly as he dared and turned to Thranduil. “What are you doing here? A year is not so long as to send a messenger out of his own comfort…”

Thranduil clasped his hands to his chest and rocked on his heels. “Why, my father misses thee something awful! As do I… thy company is a thing to be treasured, _milord._ ” He winked as he called Glorfindel by the particular name he knew would please him – it had been a rather arousing catalyst in the past to their most decadent adventures. It brought a blush to Glorfindel’s cheeks even now, and Fëanor mocked him for it.

“Ooh, _milord_. What a precious little title for, oh what was it? The great warrior? The sexual fiend? Hoho, _Lord_ Glorfindel! _Par-don **me!”** _  

“Would you stop being weird for one fucking second?! Glorfindel hissed, making such a face that Thranduil giggled softly. The younger Vanya placed his hands on Glorfindel’s chest in an expression of desire to connect. But Glorfindel did not wish to be drawn from his former task just yet. Fëanor was still in need of a banterriffic ass-whooping. “Thranduil, I do not have the time for this. Leave us, please…”

Thranduil’s open smile faded a little, the gleeful little lines around his eyes melting away. Why did Glorfindel not wish to speak to him after they’d been apart for so long? Was this not the same dear friend he had courted on a weekly basis for the past six and a half thousand years? Not the same good old warrior who always sparred with Oropher and taught the younger elves how to fight? It did not make sense. Glorfindel had always without fail given Thranduil all the attention he’d ever wanted. Now… he was _busy?_ Preposterous. He only needed a little more of an incentive to go with Thranduil back to the slopes of Taniquetil and all would be perfect again.

“I beseech thee…” Thranduil tried, tugging at Glorfindel’s robes and pleading with his huge eyes. “Please, Glory! Come back with me…” He’d not called Glorfindel _that_ since he’d been an elfling, but it still worked as a sweet pet name now and then.

“Stop it, Thranduil… You’re embarrassing me…” Glorfindel attempted to push Thranduil away while ignoring Fëanor, who just happened to be convulsing with laughter on the floor. Thranduil’s brows drew together, raised in confusion.

“H..how so? Hast thou not always been open and shameless? ‘Tis how I remember thee…” His voice quavering, Thranduil realized he’d been _shoved_ and felt honestly hurt for it – such an emotion had never struck him before. Glorfindel could see where this was going and gruffly excused himself, dragging Thranduil out into the sunlit courtyard. He sat down on a bench away from prying eyes and instantly felt Thranduil jump into his lap, demanding and a little teary.

“Oh, Thranduil…” Glorfindel shook his head and curls of his golden hair tumbled over his broad shoulders. “Forgive me.”

Thranduil blinked, cuddling his friend closer just to make sure things were still okay. Glorfindel embraced him with one arm, taking his other hand to dip into a flower nearby and take up a bit of sweet nectar. He dabbed Thranduil’s lips with it playfully and felt a light kiss at his fingertip. Thranduil nibbled on his finger then, pouting a little as he did so.

“You must understand, mellon nín… I came here for a reason.”

“Because it is thy wish to fight, mm?” Thranduil licked as he spoke, still managing to enunciate clearly. “Is the violence and aggression of Noldorin society appealing to thee?”

“It’s not bad.” said Glorfindel, missing the distaste in Thranduil’s voice. It was such an uncommon thing to hear from any of the Vanyar, Glorfindel almost couldn’t recognize it. “Long have I desired to slake my thirst for these exotic, dark-haired beings… and they’re pretty decent fighters, though none better than I.”

Thranduil bit Glorfindel then, hard enough until he hit bone. Glorfindel actually felt pain and yelped, pulling his finger away.

“We miss thee, Glorfindel. Thou knowest what Noldorin influence can do to an elf… Thou art our beloved warrior, our brother, our friend. Thy dalliances have gone on long enough… there are plenty of us willing to please thee, should thou will such a thing.”

“But I’m _tired_ of Vanyarin cock. I’ve not had a lover yet who ravishes me in their aggression, leaves me sore and bends me to their most perverse desires!” Glorfindel complained a few words too many and shut his mouth at the look on Thranduil’s face.

“Is that what this is about? Not the will to better thyself as a warrior, nor to offer thy noble services to these foreign folk… Thou art unsatisfied with all our people have given you… the love my own father shares freely with thee alone…” Thranduil’s tone was accusatory and hushed, words roiling at the back of his throat. “Thou forsaketh kin and honor for a different shade of hair? For a few words in another language, and a harsher touch at thy skin? Shame on thee, Glorfindel. We are terribly hurt because of thou.”

Then Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “You came all this way to pick a fight with me? To rant about how _wrong_ my desires are?” His entire body tensed and Thranduil felt it, saw it in the bulge of muscle at his neck.

“I came to bring thee to my father, whose arms are without warmth in thy absence!”

“Why don’t _you_ go back to him. I’m sure his forcibly gentle fucking will be enough for you, as it has always been. I want more. Here amongst the Noldor I shall stay.” And that was that, Glorfindel finding no further reason to argue with Thranduil and standing to his full height. He peeled Thranduil away and set him down on the bench, then strode back to crack his shit at Fëanor. The Noldor were used to fights in the hall anyway. Such was the state of the Dysfunctional House of Fëanor, seven crazy sons and insane cousins included.

Thranduil sat on the bench alone, the taste of nectar at his lips soured and heat in his body driving anger to his fingers and toes. He tensed every muscle then relaxed, trembling slightly as he did so. What was this consuming discomfort he felt, and why was it so hesitant to leave?

‘ _Eat something.’_ said a voice in his head, ‘ _You’ll feel better.’_


	3. Chapter 3

Thranduil left the palace to wander the streets of Tirion, his shoulders a little slumped and good mood completely annihilated. He’d not felt this horrid ever before in his entire life, and was at a loss for what to do. He had no money either, or anything too valuable to trade. Of _course_ he had to be hungry at this precise moment.

The scent of baked goods wafted from Tirion’s market square, and Thranduil stood at a distance wondering how he could get some. A bit of sweet warmth always comforted him, be it from food or a lover. Sulking even more, he turned away and went along some winding streets. The Noldor used currency, unlike the Vanyar. There was no way he could barter for anything. Thranduil found a wall made of precious white stones and hauled himself up, sitting there in deep thought. Glorfindel did not want to return to Vanyarin society, and seemed less friendly than he’d last been. What was the world coming to?

Thranduil turned around to the sound of rustling leaves, thoughts broken in an instant. He spied a bird up in a tree, surrounded by red apples and thick green leaves. Within seconds Thranduil had flipped into the garden and began to scale the tree, being quite adept at communing with nature so that he could easily get up. The sunlight filtered down onto his head and there he sat, chewing over his thoughts and a few apples as the day went on. Whoever owned this house and these trees surely wouldn’t mind. Thranduil could sleep up here, and head home when he had morning’s light to guide him. He was just thinking on how he would explain things to Oropher when he heard a voice from below.

“What are you doing?” said a voice in Quenya, low and almost threatening. Thranduil jumped out of the tree and fell into someone’s arms, half an apple stuck in his mouth. Like a deer in headlights he stared, and caught sight of high cheekbones and cool grey eyes. Oh, this elf was _handsome._ The type of _exotic Noldo_ Glorfindel seemed so fond of.

“Nice eyebrows.” mumbled Thranduil, smiling sweetly as he finished the rest of his apple and wrapped his arms around the elf’s neck. He got a confused look in reply, then a question.

“Who are you?”

The following hour turned into an exchange of words, Thranduil speaking of his own basic details and the Noldo informing him that he was Elrond, half-elven. In Elrond’s living room they sat, where it was warm and comfortable with a fireplace illuminating the cozy space. It was clear Elrond had some sort of status, and more time passed in which Thranduil learnt that he was a Lord, with a drop of royal blood in him all the way from the house of Finwë. Still, he did not flaunt himself about and remained solitary in his little white house. He told Thranduil he didn’t care for jewels or status – a good sword to defend himself with and an endless library of books were all the things he needed. His favourite pastime was to study ancient texts, and to learn as much as he could.

“My, thou hast quite interesting ancestry.” said Thranduil, just as Elrond finished explaining about the Edain of Middle-Earth.

“It would take centuries to tell the tales of it all. I’ve never really had anyone able to listen for that long…”

“But thou art so wise!” Thranduil leaned forwards in his chair, eyes wide. “I shall listen to thee. Share with me thy knowledge, Lord Elrond...”

Elrond smiled. “There is no need for titles with me, mellon. I would very much like us to continue this conversation tomorrow… I can see weariness in your fair face.”

Thranduil only noticed then that his eyelids were drooping and he was indeed quite tired – Elrond’s low, smooth voice was like a lullaby to him, languid and soothing in its journey from his lips.

“Thou speaketh in truth…” Thranduil curled up on his side, sinking his head into a cushion near the end of the couch. “May I sleep here? I am only visiting in thy city...”

“Of course. I can hardly turn you away at this hour.” With a nod, Elrond rose and went to get a blanket for Thranduil. He showed this kindness to all his guests, but it made Thranduil feel _special_ … that someone in this high and prestigious kingdom would go to any length to make him comfortable. Thranduil smiled a drowsy, lopsided smile, gentle and charming as always. Elrond found him quite beautiful like this, and was drawn to touch the elf’s silver-blonde hair. He’d never been this close to a Vanya before, having only seen his oldest relatives and sometimes Glorfindel from a distance. He didn’t really talk to anyone, not unless it was to offer aid or check on their wellbeing. Most days he stayed in his home… and today, he had someone to share it with.

 

~

 

The next morning, Thranduil and Elrond sat opposite each other in the living room. Elrond reclined on the sofa he’d let Thranduil sleep on, while Thranduil sat in an armchair with his legs crossed. It was so soft, he could just melt into it. So he did, while drinking a sweet honeyed concoction that woke his hazy senses.

“Tell me a little about yourself.” said Elrond, watching Thranduil’s curious little expressions. “I am quite interested about what life is like for the High Elves who live close to the Valar.”

“Mm, we do not do much.” Thranduil licked his lips, peering at Elrond over the top of his cup. “Like the Teleri, we sing. There is much love we share for all things natural, but chiefest of all our eternal admiration belongs to the Valar. We live near them so that we might witness their glory firsthand, and often they listen to the songs and poetry we write for them.” A serene smile spread over Thranduil’s face as he spoke, his long dark lashes coming down in a slow blink. “It is said we are the favourites of Manwë and Varda… and as long as we live among them, no harm can come to us.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow at this, and Thranduil continued. “It is true… Foul emotions came into my heart as I remained in Tirion – it is only through my meeting of thee that some good came from my journey here.”

“I am sorry to hear that…” said Elrond, reaching out with his heart for his new friend. “Has anyone here upset you? It must be terrible to come all this way and experience such a thing.”

Thranduil sighed. “’Twas merely confusing… Oh, Elrond. My dearest Glorfindel seemed to wish no friendship between us from the way he spoke to me! Nobody has ever done that before.”

“You… had a disagreement? Wait… does that mean you do not ever have differing opinions amongst the Vanyar at home?” Elrond’s brows descended in serious questioning. ‘ _Does he seriously think the city is the cause of his troubles?’_

“All is peaceful and well on the slopes of Taniquetil. We eat and drink whatever we like while basking in the sun with our friends and family. ‘Tis our way of life… we do not bother with crafts or currency. Nor Kings and Queens, mind thou.”  Thranduil sipped his drink then pressed his head back into the armchair. Now Elrond looked quite shocked, and had to compose himself before speaking.

“That’s… awfully simple, don’t you think? Don’t you ever get bored after a few hundred years?”

“Why?” Thranduil stared into Elrond’s eyes, a greenish tone to his glistening wide orbs. “Thou knowest of my age, Elrond. Seven thousand years of what my people do is not boring in the slightest!” He flashed a bright smile and wiggled his eyebrows, but this did not calm nor ease Elrond’s apparent tension.

“Please tell me you jest, Thranduil. I cannot imagine a day without devoting my mind to some lore or scripture! Are there no scholars amongst your kin? No craftsmen at all?”

Thranduil laughed, the sound high and musical. “Ai, it is a mere difference in culture I suppose. ‘Tis the way things are, and I have not known life to be anything else. Thy people are strangely busy to me, in all honesty. Why do the Noldor work with hammers and heat to forge blades to harm innocent folk? It makes no sense to me.”

“If there are no smiths to make blades, jewelry and armor, what will the soldiers wear? There is a necessity here in Tirion, and no-one can stand being truly idle…”

“I can.” Thranduil nodded before draining the rest of his drink. “What is life without peace?”

“What is life without excitement?” Elrond challenged, ire veiled in his voice. “Is there not anything you wish to do, nothing you strive for?”

“Nay.” Shaking his head, Thranduil rose from the armchair and placed his cup on the coffee table. In a few soundless steps he was by Elrond’s side, where he joined him on the couch and cuddled up close. Elrond stiffened, having expected further conversation.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Thranduil only raised his head a little in response, then pressed his face into Elrond’s neck. It was his favourite place to rest, the neck. Nice and warm, with the most delectable and unique scents. “Enough about my life….” he murmured, lips soft against Elrond’s skin. “Tell me about thee.”

Now Elrond honestly found it quite strange to have a near stranger come so close – they were only acquainted on the most basic terms, and to know each other better it would take a few centuries to tell the stories of their lives. True friendship would come millenia later, after they’d gone through many things together.

 _‘Please tell me this is a cultural thing…’_ Elrond worried to himself and was silent as he thought over the last relationship he’d had when someone had gotten this close. He’d never had one. ‘ _Is it time to panic…?’_

“Go on….” Thranduil drawled, hoping to incite a long tale from Elrond so that he could hear more of that wonderful voice. Elrond stuttered at first then began to speak of what he remembered in Middle-Earth, how different humans were to elves and what it was like to be looked after by someone who could easily kill him. He told tales of Maglor his guardian and Ëarendil his father, the latter having never been around long enough to form much of a relationship with his son. So Elrond remembered, and Thranduil learned. Thranduil could not remember much and found himself barely listening, instead hearing only the gentle flow of Elrond’s voice like water running down a stream. He closed his eyes and relaxed completely, a hand falling across Elrond’s waist in half an embrace. Still Elrond was tense, and the sudden motion broke his train of thought to come back to reality, memories just a moment away.

“Thranduil…? I, ah… I do hope I’ve not gone on for too long…”

“No… ‘tis fine…” Thranduil’s words were slurred and for a moment Elrond thought he was unwell. It was not often that anyone fainted on him while he spoke. “Tell me more…”

“Well… Regarding Maglor as I was saying, he looked after me for most of my time in Middle-Earth, as Ëarendil was always sailing around, doing Valar knows what. When the time came for the few Noldor to return to Aman, many were hesitant and Maglor stayed behind. To this day, Fëanor blames me for that. Whenever he looks at me he remembers the Men who took away his son.” Sadness tinged Elrond’s voice, wavering in hesitance to speak further. Thranduil was too comfortable to look up, so he offered a secure hug to Elrond’s waist.

“Ng! T-terribly affectionate, aren’t you?” Elrond tried to laugh but sounded terrified instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (..this is where I stopped writing)


	4. [Notes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my personal notes on writing the fic further.

Idea: write a fic about thranduil being a luxuriant Vanya who sleeps under the trees all day and eats the finest food – and one day journeys to Tirion to meet with Elrond, the half-elven Lord alongside his brother Elros at Finwë’s court. Finwë’s old and tired but will not give up the throne to his son, and Fëanor resents him a bit for that.

**A lot of Thranduil’s character we see in the Third Age will not be present here because he has gone through no suffering, seen no death, and has no reasons to distrust strangers (aside from Melkor).**

Thranduil and Elrond develop a bit of a relationship, Thranduil traveling between his home and Tirion to see Elrond more often. He loves Elrond purely with all his heart but Elrond is attracted to intellect and wit, and is very single-minded in the prospect of relationships: marriage for life and that is it. SO one day after like a month (when manwe warns against going to Tirion because there is ‘unrest between the noldor’) Thranduil goes to see Elrond, only to notice that once he enters the entrance hall of Elrond’s house, Elrond is there and his wife soon comes along from a side room. Elrond says that: “I have a life now, mellon nin. Celebrian is the light of the stars to me; and we shall create a family together here… I am sorry, Thranduil… but you and I… we cannot be.” Celebrian clutches Elrond’s hand and watches Thranduil’s heart break, and tears roll down his face. _Elrond had never witnessed a Vanya cry before and it was the most pitiful sight he’d ever seen_ **.** So Thranduil flees Tirion and goes to his favourite tree with the super long grass that he can hide in and he stays there, trying to figure out what’s wrong with him, why he is having this sudden agonizing reaction. And Oropher is up in the tree, horrified. Nek minit, Thranduil cries to Oropher, who has rage awakened within him. Oropher is like ‘U MEK MI SON CREY” and goes to Tirion to see what’s up. He’s known as the greatest warrior of the Vanyar alongside his bff Glorfindel and Finwë, half maddened by his long life but unable to grow weary of it, takes Oropher’s presence as a threat.  PARANOID LOL. Finwë threatens to kill Oropher and Oropher smirks, saying it’s pretty much impossible. Proud and arrogant as fuck. So Finwë orders him dead and a shitload of Noldor come to attack Oropher. Oropher ends up heavily wounded and kills them all. He goes for Finwë, but Fëanor decapitates him with the biggest sword he can find and oropher’s tunnel vision can’t save him then.

 

The knowledge of Oropher’s death strikes Thranduil and he wails all alone in abject misery, not eating or sleeping at all. He cries until he feels his poor head will split and he cannot sing for his throat is hoarse and body shaking. Manwe finds him one day and is all “what is wrong, my child?” and Thranduil splutters out a few words – manwe immediately verifies that Oropher is dead via his mental link with Mandos and after placing Thranduil’s mind in a forcibly calm state, goes to call a council.

 

Finwë is called to the Council of the Valar to discuss his actions, along with Fëanor. They end up saying shit like ‘he disrespected us, he deserves to die’ and manwe is like ‘no elf deserves to die, for you are all equal in the eyes of the Valar. Deserving of mercy, methinks.” Nienna nods and everyone else is like ‘holy shit manwe pls’ and the feanorians get off SCOT FREE but with a warning. Do it again and they are exiled to middle earth. So Oropher is brought back and Thranduil cries in his arms – the shadow of suffering having left its mark on his pure heart. Oropher is torn between revenge (which he will not live without) and taking care of his son (his number one priority)… The plot thickens. And then the Noldor in their rush to get to middle-earth kill the Teleri for their ships, and Thranduil’s mother dies. Oropher decides to journey alone to Middle-Earth to slay as many Noldor as he can but Glorfindel stops him, saying his time is not now. Oropher hits Glorfindel who is sent reeling, and they grapple until Oropher feels pain and becomes aroused by it. Glorfindel wants Oropher to expel his rage and tension by means of glorious sex, and they do that. Manwe also comes to Oropher and tells him to exercise restraint, trying to get him to go back to the idyllic Vanyarin lifestyle the high elves on Taniquetil enjoy so much. Uneasy, Oropher remains with Thranduil and hates the Noldor more than anything else. Eventually his hatred consumes him and he becomes so incredibly violent that he cannot function unless he has the instinctual restraint of Thranduil’s presence affecting him. After thousands of years with no Noldor contact, Oropher’s rage becomes manageable to the point where he can live life normally as long as there is no mention of Noldor made. Lel trigger warning for Oreo ;u;… The Noldor never return to Aman, for they are now known as The Forsaken and every single one of them dies in the battle against legions of Men and Orcs, who team up because the Orcs naturally hate elves for being prettier and more pure than them whereas the Men think the elves have come to take over Middle-Earth. So the Noldor all die, and they live in the halls of Mandos for eternity. Now and then Thranduil thinks of Elrond, and the memory saddens him. Alas, it was fate for them to never be together, and he grows to accept it in time. It is in his nature as an elf to be accepting and serene.

Thranduil lives with Celeborn and Oropher and Glorfindel to be happy forever. Galadriel died with the Noldor but Celeborn thinks she went to be a queen in Middle-Earth… he is literally incapable of accepting any information that tells otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so yeah there it is lmao hope this entertained you somewhat ;D
> 
> i used to have too much ambition and too little drive to see my fics and projects through to utmost completion.


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